This Mirror Isn't Big Enough For the Two of Us
by Edward's Josie Black
Summary: Finding out what to wear for the WWE Hall of Fame induction ceremony isn't that hard...unless you're shopping for your boyfriend, who just happens to be John Cena. Inspired by Rhiannon Leigh Black's story, I Wanna Be A Rock Star. Cena/OC


**A/N: And so, inspiration strikes. I don't know why, since the foremost thing in my mind is the fact that I WON LUDO TICKETS…but, unfortunately have NO way of getting to the show. As soon as this idea popped into my head, I went with it, because at the moment, I'm eager to get my mind off how excited/annoyed I am.**

**However, I had to make the title Ludo-related, at least at first. The title was originally You're Awful, I Love You, which is also the title of their latest album, as well as a line from the (EPIC) song "Love Me Dead." I decided to change it, so it's now the title of a My Chemical Romance song, which, although admittedly slightly less epic than "Love Me Dead," is still pretty awesome.**

**This is a spin-off of sorts from Rhiannon Leigh Black's story I Just Wanna Be a Rockstar, which I do not in any way own. This might make a little more sense if you're familiar with it, but you don't have to read it to appreciate this. But you should, because it's nifty.**

**Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us**

"I'm not wearing that."

John Cena stood firm, his arms crossed over his chest. He glared at his girlfriend, Leesie Rennings. The bassist stared back, unblinking, with one hand on her hip. Her other hand held a red tie up to the collar of a black dress shirt, which she had paired with pinstriped pants and a black silk dress coat.

"At least try it on."

"I'm not the lead singer of that damn band of yours."

She arched an eyebrow.

"I'm aware you're not Gerard, you idiot."

"Then why the hell do I have to try that on?"

"Because I want you to."

"And what makes you think that's reason enough for me to actually try it on?"

"Because you know you love me," she replied, smirking coyly.

He scoffed, but it was obvious he was kidding.

"That's what you think, Rennings."

"John, you and I--and the rest of the world--are fully aware that you sort of…suck at picking out decent dress clothes. I will not be seen with a man who can't dress himself."

"Hey, last year wasn't bad!"

"You wore a neon orange tie. What the fuck was up with that?"

"I thought I was making a statement."

"Yeah, one that says, 'caution: construction.'"

He sighed, exasperated, as she reminded herself to tell the others of this brilliantly entertaining exchange later.

"Road construction signs aren't the only things that are orange," he said defensively.

"This is true. Other orange things include those signs on the back of Amish buggies and slow-moving farm equipment. And hunting vests. Way to go; you're associating yourself with Indiana rednecks."

He appeared confused for a moment before speaking.

"But you're the one from Indiana."

"Exactly," she stage-whispered. "And yet I'm the one who knows how to dress."

"Orange is my _color_."

"Well, it's not mine. I refuse to wear it--you can't make me."

John stepped closer to the petite brunette, so that he loomed over her in a way he hoped was intimidating. She simply stared up at him, nonplussed.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm bigger than you."

"Yeah, but in case _you_ hadn't noticed, I'm better at comebacks than you are. So spare us both the pain and don't try. Threatening me won't work." She smirked, then continued. "You wouldn't do anything anyway, because, firstly, I would go all Shawn Michaels on your face. Then--"

"How are you going to reach? You're such a short person."

"Shut up, Cena."

"What happened to the comeback queen?"

"She took a brief vacation. Now don't change the subject. It's time to focus on the issue at hand."

"Which isn't your height?"

"No. It's your inability to clothe yourself."

"I'm wearing clothes," he insisted.

He gestured to his jean shorts and Red Sox tee. She snorted.

"So that's what they're calling that these days."

"I think my style is fine."

She sighed and looked up at him with a mix of annoyance and pity.

"Look, Hun, I hate to break it to you, but _that--_" She shuddered delicately._ "--_is not style. It's the same look a million other horribly generic men sport every day."

He opened his mouth to object, but she held up a hand to keep him silent.

"Fortunately for all involved, your civilian wardrobe is a task for another day. Today, though, we have to find you something to wear to the Hall of Fame ceremony. And it will not involve brown, orange, or yellow in any form."

"Do you have your dress?"

"That is not the issue right now, Johnathan." she hissed in exasperation before more-or-less answering him anyway. "I'm torn between five of them, so I'm going to have you try some stuff on to see which dress's coordinating ensemble works best on you."

"Oh…Hold on. What?"

She shook her head.

"I really don't know what your problem is. Did you drink last night?"

"Maybe…a little."

"You need to stop going out with KB and the Hardys. At least tell me next time, for God's sake. I would have kept you from drinking enough to make you stupid…er than normal."

"I'm sorry. It was a last-minute thing. Plus I didn't know you'd want to go shopping so early. You can't control me, Sweetheart; you're my girlfriend, not God. And…did you just call me stupid again?"

She chose to ignore most of his arguments and address the one she deemed most worthy of her attention at the moment.

"I always go shopping early. I avoid the hormonal teenage boys that way."

"Hang on…what's this about teenage boys?" he was instantly alert and very much concerned.

She shrugged, although she was a bit surprised at his reaction.

"It's not a big deal. They're harmless."

"Guys don't come on to you, do they?" he demanded, gripping the tops of her arms.

"I'm confused," she declared. "I'm your girlfriend. I heard it from Punk that you--what was it?--'practically orgasmed' when you saw my picture. And you're seriously asking if guys hit on me. Try making some sense here. You really should stop drinking."

"It's not funny," he insisted. "They don't touch you or anything, do they?"

"John, seriously. It's not a big deal."

"It is to me."

She softened.

"That's sweet, really. It means a lot that you care."

She kissed his cheek, and he unconsciously loosened his grip on her shoulders as he inhaled the scent of her John Frieda Brilliant Brunette conditioner. She pulled back and looked up at him with a wry grin.

"You know I can take 'em. You're just fishing for ways to distract me, and it's not going to work any more."

"But--"

"Try it on."

"I--"

"Try the damn suit on!" she snapped.

"The things I do for you," he muttered.

"Oh, don't even," she said as he finally took the suit off the rack and headed into the fitting room. "I'm doing you a favor by going to the ceremony with you."

He shut the door, and she leaned against the wall next to it. She pulled out her phone to flip through the photos of the dresses she was debating between.

"You know you want to go," he said loudly, voice muffled through the door.

"That's not the point."

"Well, you're acting like it's inconveniencing you to go, when you know you want to."

"Not with an unattractively-dressed rapper who looks like a monkey."

He pushed the door open with a grim expression and bent so that his face was inches from hers.

"Ew, put a shirt on!" she protested, making a face.

"What was that?" he asked in a low voice.

"They were right," she said with a shrug. You do look like a monkey."

He raised a brow before swooping in and catching her lips in a kiss. She mumbled in protest, but her lips responded automatically to his. When finally she regained her senses, she pushed him away, feigning irritation.

"We are in a store. Stop trying to distract me. None of this changes the fact that you need to try on those outfits. You cannot go to the Hall of Fame ceremony naked."

"Who says?"

"I do."

Leesie checked the time on her phone and groaned. She then looked up at her (still-shirtless) boyfriend with a pleading, yet no-nonsense, expression.

"John, seriously. It's getting late. We have a plane to catch early tomorrow morning. I still have to pack some stuff. I can't be hanging out here forever with you…plus the store really does need to open to the public sometime soon. You've got to pick one so we can shoot the vignette."

"Okay."

He kissed her cheek. With that, he disappeared back into the dressing room without protest. She sighed and shook her head, a fond smile tugging at her lips.

"Dork."

Shortly thereafter, he opened the door. She could tell by his expression that he was uncomfortable. Reluctantly, she had to admit that the look of her favorite band didn't work on him.

"Fine," she said. "That one's not going to work."

"I _told _you."

"Yes, yes you did. Now, try this next one on."

She indicated the next suit, which included a deep blue vest and silver and black striped tie with slightly silvery gray pants and jacket. He didn't complain, but took it wordlessly. For that, she was grateful. Her phone chose that moment to ring, and she answered with as much weariness in her voice as she felt.

"Hello?"

"Oh, God, is it that bad?"

"Yes, KB, it is."

"What's the problem?"

"He's _just_ trying on the second suit."

"Wow. Maybe you should resort to violence?"

There followed some dialogue from KB's end. From what Leesie could make out, Rhynne was volunteering to come "talk some sense into the monkey." Tina, however, was terrified they were going to be late. Punk was attributing John's attitude to alcohol use, while Matt insisted that the Champ hadn't gotten _too_ drunk. After trying to get them to quiet down, KB addressed Leesie again.

"He was hammered. Matt must have been so drunk that John looked practically sober by comparison…or something."

"I guess so."

Leesie looked up to see John exiting the dressing room. He didn't look completely miserable, which she took as a good sign. She held a finger up to keep him quiet before speaking to her bandmate again.

"One sec, Hun…he's done."

"Okay."

Leesie put a hand over the receiver and turned her attention to her boyfriend.

"Hey…that's better," she said, nodding in approval.

He, however, looked uncertain.

"I'm not so sure about the gray. It looks like something a gay stripper would wear with some sort of pink netted shirt."

She nearly fell over as she began laughing. Gasping for air, she managed to speak.

"That is a messed-up mental image."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm just being honest."

She clutched his arm in order to remain standing as a new wave of laughter bubbled to the surface. He watched, slightly disturbed, as she struggled to breathe.

"Are you okay?"

"I was just thinking…" she said as she recovered. "Perhaps that might come in handy for one of your random get-togethers."

"Um…what?"

"Okay, you know, the ones that involve mayonnaise in some form as well as about five other random things, and that always wind up being tons of fun and making you all stupid the next day? You were talking about them on _Five Questions With the Champ_."

"…Oh! Those. Hmmm…yeah, that might work, actually. Are you game for bringing the peeled cherry tomatoes?"

She gagged and shuddered.

"No! I _hate _tomatoes. They're slimy and gross, and…ick!"

"Okay, so…no tomatoes."

"Damn right."

Glad that they were almost half done, and eager to finish, she pulled the next suit out. As soon as she saw it, she knew it wasn't going to fly with John. Upon seeing his face, she feared for the virgin ears of any children passing the store.

"Oh, hell no."

His face was set, and his eye twitched ominously. She groaned.

"Look, we can get one that's--"

"I'm not wearing a fucking pink suit. That's where I draw the line."

Leesie sighed and decided to give in, despite the fact that the pink-and-black dress that went with this particular suit was her favorite of the bunch. Before she could tell him not to worry about the pink, her phone rang once again, and, once again, she answered.

"Hello?"

"What the hell are you two _doing_?" came Rhynne's irritated voice. "I thought we'd established that we don't need monkey-bassist hybrids running around."

"What?"

"Remember, you were talking to KB, and told her to wait…and she's been yelling at you for the last three minutes, so eventually I made her hang up so I could call you back."

"I'm sorry," Leesie said, suddenly remembering the task at hand. "We started talking about John's random parties."

"The ones with the mayonnaise?"

"The very same."

While continuing her conversation with Rhynne, Leesie pushed another suit at John and shoved him back into the dressing room to change. She paid no attention to his expression or the suit, as she was by this point quite agitated.

"So, what KB was going to say before the…um…delay…was that the guys are heading to the gym for their workouts…and we're going with them."

"Okay…" Leesie said, although this word was followed by a groan which suggested that everything was not, in fact, all right at all.

"Do I need to come kick him in the balls? You know you don't have to put up with that shit. So don't. You could always leave him half-naked in the changing room."

"I am _not_ going to be seen at the Hall of Fame ceremony with a horribly-dressed person. Come on, everybody who's anybody in the WWE is going to be there. And I'm going to be in the front row between John Cena and Triple H. I'm going to look fabulous no matter what, but we have to match--"

"You have to _match_?" the drummer stated in confusion. "What, is it prom or something?"

"Oh, shut up. _I _don't think we have to match. I'd be happy with a little coordination. But my alter-ego is a diva--small "d"--who thinks that she and her man have to match. That way they'll draw the attention of everyone in the room, because they'll both be perfect in every way imaginable."

"Ugh, that's disgusting."

"Yeah…I was inspired by talking to Kelly."

"You talked to her?" Rhynne questioned, sounding disturbed.

"I sort of had to. If I'm going to be playing the party girl, I have to be a little over-the-top. Naturally, I thought of Kelly first…because she fit the bill."

"I really hope you didn't actually touch her. You might contract one of her eighty-seven diseases."

"Oh, shit! I did touch her! I'm going to go take a two hour shower…You know, if John ever gets done in there," she said loudly.

"Speaking of whom, you might want to warn him, you know, before you--"

"Rhynne, gross. We're not having sex."

John chose that moment to poke his head out the door.

"We're not?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Not for a while, dollface."

He pouted, but then his expression changed as his lips twisted into a provocative smirk. She fought the urge to giggle.

"You might be changing your mind in a second."

"Wanna bet?" Leesie challenged.

He stepped out of the dressing room. Leesie's eyes widened.

"Holy…" she managed.

She stood, frozen. John grinned and took her phone from her.

"Hey, Rhynne, I'm sorry. Leesie's a little…busy. We'll be done soon."

"Would you please wait to get back to the hotel before you rape each other?"

"We'll try," he replied jokingly. "Bye, Rhynne."

He snapped the phone shut and addressed Leesie, who had actually managed to close her mouth.

"I know I'm dead sexy, but don't you think you're overreacting?"

She smiled.

"I think this is the one," she said at last.

The suit consisted of a black dress shirt, a robin's-egg-blue-and-white striped tie, and a blue vest under a black jacket. The pocket square was blue. But the main cause for Leesie's stunned reaction was the black fedora with white pinstripes.

"You could have just showed me this one first."

"I probably should have," she admitted. "The dress that goes with this is my favorite, too."

"Should we call the camera crew?"

She nodded.

"Yeah, that sounds like a plan."

While she entered the other changing room to put her dress on, he called the crew. Once they had assured him they were on the way, he set out to find the owner of the store to tell her they were sorry for the delay but would be done shortly. When he returned to the fitting room area, he knocked on the door.

"Are you almost done?"

"Yeah, actually. I just need zipped. Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

She opened the door and turned so her back was to him. He zipped the dress, and she adjusted it so it fit properly before facing him.

"Wow."

She blushed. The strapless dress was the same blue as his vest, and was made of a slightly shimmery gauzy material over matching satin. Stylistically, it was very similar to the long blue gown worn by Uma Thurman in the film adaptation of _The Producers_, but Leesie had added her own touch--two studded belts in black and white--to the gown.

"Do you like it?"

"I do."

"Well, then…now all we have to do is wait for the camera crew."

Leesie sat down in a nearby armchair, careful not to muss her dress. John claimed the other, lounging.

~*~

"See?" she questioned, adjusting his hat as he looked into the full-length mirror. "That wasn't too bad. More fun than that workout you're missing."

He nodded, but looked uncertain.

"Stephanie's not going to be happy if she hears I'm missing workouts again…We're not supposed to be seeing each other," he said. "Let alone sitting together at the Hall of Fame induction ceremony."

"What are they going to do? We messed around with the seating chart a bit. They'll blame it on a computer error. We'll be scot-free." Her green eyes narrowed. "You _do _want to sit with me, right?"

"Of course I do," he said with a smile.

"Look," she said, "you're John Cena. They shouldn't be able to tell you who you can hang out with."

"Exactly," he agreed.

"The F4 entourage are taking over the front row," Leesie said, turning to gaze at her reflection in the mirror. "And we are going to look damn sexy doing it. We always do."

"Damn straight," he murmured, kissing her temple.

Both stared at their reflections with nearly identical smirks.

"Annnd…that's a wrap. Good job, guys."

Leesie grinned and turned back to John.

"We're going to take the Hall of Fame ceremony by storm," she said, this time with only a bit of playful smugness. "But first…you're late for your workout."

**A/N: I know it gets a bit stupid at the end, but oh, well. Read and review? 3**


End file.
